Begin the Begin
by Professor Maka
Summary: A collection of pre-canon shorts. In the latest short, "My Cheesy Valentine," Soul panics when Maka gives all her friends cards and chocolates, him included. Includes a time jump bonus omake.
1. Genesis

**A/N: This collection will be for anything pre-canon, and I may move the one or two pre-canon drabbles I already have here. This first fic is for raining-down-hearts because she wanted pre-canon SoMa for her Birthday, so pre-canon SoMa it is. You can thank her for the birth of this collection. You should also just go read every fic she's ever written because she is an amazing writer.**

**Soul Eater is Ohkubo's and I stole Begin the Begin from REM. The words alone are mine. **

**Special thanks to rebornfromash for reading through this mess and, as usual, making it suck less. You should also go check out her fic for it is brilliant.**

* * *

If their partnership was anything so far, and it was many things, confusing was at the top of the list.

When he had first arrived at the DWMA, first shown up to a classroom full of new weapons and meisters on the first day, he was surprised to hear that they would need to find a partner, that they should start looking now by getting to know the people in the room. Soul had known, in a sort of distant way, that he would eventually have to find a meister, a person to wield him, but he'd figured they'd assign him someone down the road. He certainly didn't plan on having to _mingle _just yet, to be forced to look for someone to wield him so soon.

The very idea of someone holding him and swinging him around was odd and unpleasant. Hell, he hadn't even figured out how to take his full weapon form yet—how on earth did they expect him to be used by a meister?

He wasn't ready for this. He had just gotten here, to this strange school in this to strange city, bought all new clothes to go with his new life, clothes his parents never would have approved of with their bold colors and casual style, was still living out of a suitcase in a hotel room. How could he be expected to find someone so important so soon, someone he would be stuck with for the foreseeable future, a new someone to disappoint? Here and now were not the time.

Long used to occupying the edge of a crowd, to staying in the shadows unnoticed and unbothered, Soul drifted towards the edge of the room as others mingled, leaning into a space between windows, his posture slouched and his arms folded protectively over his chest in a move he hoped made him appear unapproachable.

Most people seemed to get the message and stayed away—he was damned good at sending off the leave me alone vibe and most people caught on and ignored him.

Most people, everyone else, but not _her._

She came right up to him, mounting his high wall with a bright smile, smashing it to bits with her outstretched hand. She was small and strange, this little girl with ash blonde pigtails and wide green eyes, this little girl in her odd school uniform and chest badge that clearly read _meister._

He looked at her hand for a moment but didn't take it. She put it back at her side, but her smile never wavered.

"Hi, I'm Maka. I'm a meister," she glanced down at the badge on her chest, "which I guess is obvious, actually. And you're Soul Eater, right?"

Soul blinked at her. He'd almost forgotten that he'd registered with a stage name, and it sounded odd and foreign, still so fresh, though that wasn't the unexpected part. The real mystery was _how did she know?_

He shrugged a response, hoping she'd go away. She didn't, of course she didn't—if she hadn't gotten the message that he didn't want company by now, then she probably never would unless he flat out told her to leave, and he wasn't quite there yet.

"Anyway," she spoke into his silence. "You're a weapon, right, a scythe?"

Another shrug. How the hell did she know all this? He hadn't even kept his weapon badge on. His bored mask threatened to slip from sheer surprise.

"Well, um, I was hoping maybe you'd be willing to be partners." The girl sported a hopeful smile that lit up her entire being with an almost eerie radiance and he just blinked at her again.

This was absurd. Just—patently ridiculous. How could she want to be partners, already, and with him? Why would she want to saddle herself with such a weapon when there were so many choices? She looked far too bright and cheerful to be stuck _him_ of all people.

Well, he knew how to scare people away. Best for everyone if he didn't find a partner right away, or, better yet, if he could stay in school and _never _find a partner.

Soul frowned at her.

"If you wanna be partners, I havta show you something first."

It was her turn to blink at him.

"Um, okay? What do you—"

"Not here. Come with me," he cut her off and he could see the annoyance flash across her face before she shrugged.

"Lead the way, I guess," she said.

And he did.

He lead her to the little cafe next to his hotel, the one where he'd seen the piano, asked her why she wanted to be partners:

Why? Because he was a scythe, though how she knew that was as big a mystery as how she knew his name. After that, he played for her from his very soul, hoping to scare her off as his music scared most people off.

It hadn't. She had clapped and smiled and called it beautiful, before extending her hand once more.

This time, he took it.

Maka had already proven she wasn't most people, this odd bright little girl, and somehow, he wanted to know more, know _why_. She was strange and intriguing and confusing, and inspite of himself, of his fears and self loathing, he wanted to be her partner—because if she thought his music was beautiful, then maybe, just maybe, this was the one person he wouldn't let down.

And anyway, she had been so insistent that there really was no saying no.

Yes, confusing it had started, and confusing it had continued as they returned to the school and registered their partnership, registered for their classes together—partnering with her placed him in the EAT class, and the knot of reluctance returned full force, but it had been too late to take it back. He would be cool—he could be cool—he wouldn't take it back.

Partnering with Maka also meant that they were assigned an apartment together. For Soul, at 12, living alone seemed an impossible dream. Living alone with a _girl _though, an 11 year old little girl with pigtails and all? It was a nightmare, the last thing he wanted. But still, it was better than being back home, so he bit back his unhappiness at the strange, awkward situation, kept his mask of boredom, and teased her mercilessly, a form of clear and present self defense against becoming too close to this person who had so easily invaded his life. Aside from which, it was actually _fun _watching her get so flustered, even if it did often end in violence and a sore arm or head for him.

That was three months ago, three short months, three impossibly long months when their partnership had first began.

Now, three months later, three months of taking classes together, figuring out how to live together, three months of her complaining about his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, of him putting up with her ridiculously scary dad, three months of movies and decorating and intrusions by her obnoxious blue-haired childhood friend. And, most of all, three months of intense practice together, of her coaxing him into taking his weapon form, of him learning how to exist as a scythe, how to maintain his shape, how to alter his sharpness, three months of her learning to work with him, to swing him, to fight with him, to work around his awkward length. Three months of learning how to work together, how to be a team, how to maybe, just maybe, trust one another, rely upon one another.

That last part was the hardest for both of them, and Soul still wasn't sure they'd ever get it right—neither of them seemed to have much reason to trust people.

Which was why, when she approached him after school, mission orders in hand, he'd looked so confused.

"You did what, now?"

"I took our first mission!" she repeated with a wide smile. "Sid-sensei thinks we're ready, and I agree."

"No," he said immediately, "we aren't ready, and I—"

"I've decided, Soul, as your meister, and I know we're ready, okay? Just trust me, it's going to be—"

"So, what, you're in charge and I'm just your—your—giant talking butter knife? That's crap, Maka, and you know it. You may be my _meister_, but it doesn't mean we're any more ready to fight off monsters or serial killers or whatever the hell you've decided we'll fight."

He knew his tone was level, bored even, but the desperation underneath was raw and real.

"The meister decides the missions and I just did," she said in that haughty tone that made him want to scream. "We leave tomorrow."

"Whatever," he grumbled as he began to walk towards home, because just three months of knowing her and he already knew that when she set her mind to something, there was no swaying her. She followed and the subject was dropped, but not forgotten, the anxiety of it, of actually trying to kill a_monster_ curling in his stomach and making sleep sparse and fleeting.

He was woken up, bleary eyed and exhausted, at the crack of dawn, her bright smile filling his vision as she stood over his bed, the smell of bacon filling his nostrils and making his stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good, you're up!" She grinned down at him. "Go shower and get changed—breakfast should be ready when you're done. We've got a big day ahead of us!"

She sounded so—so—cheerful. How could she be so cheerful about the idea that they were off to go slay some nasty freak, some unnatural abhorration?

As Maka bounded happily out of his room, he peeled himself out of bed and trudged down the hall to the shower in only his boxers. Normally, he would throw on some sleep pants and a t-shirt since he lived with a girl, but he was too cranky to care about her delicate sensibilities this morning.

Soul turned the water on as hot as he could stand, the shower easing his anxiety but little, then trudging back to his room in only a towel (because screw it,) he got dressed and made his way to the breakfast table. There was bacon and eggs and toast and coffee and juice and it all smelled good so, his pristine manners having been discarded weeks ago, he shoveled it in in silence, not even venturing a glance his meister's way. If he didn't even have a say in this then, screw her, he just wouldn't bother talking at all.

"So, I know you're nervous," she finally said over her eggs. "But really, it's going to be great, I promise."

"If you say so," he said between mouthfuls, intent on continuing his meal. The silence also continued, only clipped, necessary words exchanged as they finished preparing, packing a small overnight bag and heading out the door.

The academy had arranged transport to the airport for them both, and they piled into the waiting car, the silence stretching over the short drive and then, past when they waited and boarded the small, academy owned plane that would take them to Denver, for that was where they were headed. According to Maka, they could handle this easily.

His stomach still tied into knots at the very thought of it, of this little girl being in danger as she used him to slice through monsters. They were just kids—how could they do this? How could he ever have thought he could do this?

Of course Maka wouldn't be nervous, of course not. Young as she was, _she_was a Death Child, a legacy kid, daughter of the current Death Scythe and the three star meister who had wielded that weapon, who had made Death's current weapon what he was. This was in Maka's blood, a part of her; it was who she was and who she was always meant to be. (It was also how she had known so much about him—she'd wheedled her dad into getting files on any scythes in their class and he'd been the only one—oh, the girl could be devious when she wanted something, innocent as she seemed in those sweet little pig tails).

Maka was in her element here, but Soul? Soul felt as lost as he had that first day in their strange, strange city, the second class pianist, the son of wealth and privilege who was never quite good enough; he wasn't a Death Child, didn't belong here like Maka did. He was beginning to doubt he would ever belong anywhere because as much as he'd come to depend on, trust, even grudgingly _like_ his little meister in their few months together, he wasn't ready for this and probably never would be.

As usual, he was going to disappoint. He just hoped she didn't get hurt in the process, that he could at the very least manage to be enough of a weapon to protect his meister like he was supposed to.

Even his worthless ass was cool enough to do that much, right?

His thoughts haunted him through the music on the headphones he used to ignore her every attempt at conversation, only cut off by a blissfully dreamless sleep.

When he awoke to a cheek full of drool, his head somehow, traitorously, having found its way onto his meister's shoulder, Soul sat up straight and noticed that they were taxiing. Oh good, they were here. That much closer to being utterly fucked.

The scythe shook his meister awake gently, hoping she wouldn't notice his drool on her shoulder. As the plane stopped near the airport, moveable stairs were wheeled over so they could deplane.

"Soul, wha?" she said, irritated, blinking away sleep, "oh, right, we're here."

They gathered their things, were brought in another car to a hotel, and then it was time for weapon and meister to do their thing.

Soul felt like he was gonna hurl as they left the hotel and she held her hand out expectantly. It was just dusk, the hour when monsters would begin to roam, and theirs ought to be close.

It was time.

Reluctantly, Soul transformed into her waiting hands and marveled as she climbed a fire escape and took to the roof tops; this girl, this child, his_meister, _she really was something, and the feeling of gliding along the top of this dingy little edge of the city with her, it felt almost like flying. It was exhilarating.

Well, at least if they were screwed, it was a nice night.

As they reached a new rooftop, Maka suddenly stilled, cocking her head thoughtfully.

"Hey, tiny tits, this is no time to—"

"Shhhh! There's something."

"Oh." Well, crap.

Maka had explained on the plane when he was pretending not to listen that they would patrol the pre-kishin's favored hunting grounds until they found him. It might take a few nights, but eventually, they would get their man—er—monster.

Soul had been hoping it would take awhile, but as Maka suddenly took off at breakneck speed, he knew he was wrong. Across this roof, down a fire escape, into a dark alley. The man—well—it probably used to be a man—was hovering over another person, or perhaps what remained of her, a glowing blue orb clutched in one meaty paw. He had a bald head, pasty skin that was mottled with dark blotches, frayed clothing, and a mouth full of sharp, cracked teeth. And the smell! The scythe shuddered internally, not sure if it was the alley or the creature before them, but overpowered either way.

For her part, Maka appeared unaffected as she stood her ground a few feet away, eyes narrowed at their target.

"Murderer Scott Kimbell? We're here to take your soul!"

"Oh, little girl, as if you could," the thing replied with a wicked grin, gulping down the blue orb in a quick slurp before turning to face them fully. "But I'll gladly take _yours!_" He screeched as he lunged at them.

He was clumsy and not exactly fast and Maka side stepped him at the last minute before bringing her scythe down in a wicked arc.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over; Soul felt the odd sensation of cutting through flesh and bone, warm and wet and hard and squishy, causing a new shudder, before the sensation was gone and only an angry red orb was left behind.

So this was a kishin egg. They had read about them for months, but had yet to see one.

Soul transformed, fully human once more, and turned to grin at his meister.

"Guess you were right, bookworm, we _were _ready."

Because they had been—this was easy, and she had been totally badasss, they had been badass _together_, and hell, she'd done all the work so there really wasn't anything for him _to _screw up.

It. Was. _Awesome._

Maybe he could do this after all.

Maka grinned back and lifted her hand—he caught that she wanted a high five after a second and they smacked hands gleefully, both giddy at their triumph, at having collected their first pre-kishin soul.

Well, only 98 to go if they were to meet his meister's goal. Hell, it was a cool goal, would make him cool in truth, so he was all for it.

They stood staring at the angry red soul in giddy awe for a few minutes before turning their eyes to the body still left in the alley.

"Too bad we got here too late for her," Maka said sadly, the mood collapsing with the realization. "We'll need to contact the police when we get back to the hotel."

"Yeah," Soul agreed, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat before trying to shift the conversation—he'd rather _not _dwell on the woman they couldn't save. "But what do we do with that?" He thumbed towards the kishin soul.

Maka just looked at him and blinked for a second before laughing.

"You eat it, silly, why do you think we did all this?"

"Wait—what—I _eat_ it?"

"Of course, weren't you paying _any _attention in death scythe theory?"

"Uhhhh…yes….but…" He felt lost. So he may have slept through a class or ten. He hadn't thought it would matter. Apparently, he'd missed something_big._ "No wonder people snicker so much about my name," he grumbled..

"Nooooo-people snicker because it's ridiculous, Soul, but that's not the point. Now eat up, bon appetit, it's time to get going."

"Riiiight," he eyed the glowing red orb skeptically. "And how do I…?"

She shrugged. "Put it in your mouth, chew, and swallow I'd imagine, same as anything."

"O—okay then," he managed. _So uncool. _

Well, if he was stuck with this weirdness, may as well be cool about it. He grasped the soul gently in one hand—it was sort of odd and squishy—and brought it near his mouth.

"Uh, thanks for the grub, I guess," he smiled half heartedly at her, his stomach churning at the thought of actually _eating _it_, _at the thought that there would be far more like it to eat if they were to reach their goal.

And Death Scythe had done this? No wonder the old man was such a weirdo. Wait, this wasn't going to turn _him _into some sort of weirdo, was it?

"Itadakimasu," Maka corrected suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "It basically means thanks for the food."

"Oh, uh, itadakimasu, then," he forced the half smile into grin and, unable to back down because cool guys didn't chicken out, he opened wide and shoved the thing into his mouth whole.

It was so warm, and while it had little flavor, the texture was… was…amazing. He swallowed it down and it felt like ambrosia in his throat and then his belly, warm, wonderful, and satisfying.

If _this _was what souls tasted like, then bring it on because that was absolutely spectacular. He felt new energy course through him, felt like he could conquer the world.

He turned to his meister and putting his hands together in a mock bow, repeated with enthusiasm "itadakimasu," a ridiculously wide grin splitting his face. She laughed, her smile just as wide, and he couldn't help it, drunk on this new triumph, on the soul still in his belly, he swept her up and swung her around in an enthusiastic hug. She hugged him back, laughing, and then they made their way back to the hotel room to spend the rest of the night eating junk food and watching bad movies.

They had done this, they _could do this. _Oh yes, their partnership was many things and confusing was often one of them, yet somehow, someway, it still felt _right. _With his meister sitting on the other bed, with the kishin soul still warm inside him, the scythe couldn't help but to feel that maybe he did belong after all.


	2. My Cheesy Valentine

**A/N: This is fluffy cracky pre-canon babies, written for Day 11 of the tumblr VDay challenge, Greeting Card. It has a bonus time jump omake at the end. Short, barely edited, hey, you get what you pay for.**

* * *

It started out as an accident.

Their first year as partners, their first Valentine's Day together, Maka bought all of her close friends cards and chocolates, her weapon included, handing it to him with a speech about how love wasn't just about romance, how friendship was also a form of love. The card she gave him was cute if a lot cheesy, with a puppy on it and the words "Friends are Fur-ever" written inside.

Soul had stuttered and sputtered and told her he'd give her hers later, then made an excuse to go out for awhile as if that weren't the most obvious thing in the world. He was only twelve—it had seemed legit at the time.

Walking into the corner drug store at 5 pm on Valentine's Day, the young scythe found the card section a touch more than lacking. It looked like it had been hit by a hurricane; devoid of most of its contents, what little remained was sparse, battered, and scattered.

He groaned at the sight and began sifting through the possibilities. Most were sappy romance or innuendo, a few were to my darling daughter—he was sure she'd be getting one of those—but one and only one was addressed to a friend.

He read it. It was gross, cheesy shmaltz, completely uncool.

He couldn't give her this.

He _had _to give her this.

He bought the cursed thing and a battered box of chocolates, filled it out with a borrowed pen—Stay Cool, Soul—then walked his questionable finds home.

When he arrived, Maka already had the table set and ready, and was decidedly frowning at him from the kitchen. "Hurry up!" she snapped. "Dinner's getting cold!"

"Whatchu make?" he asked curiously, taking off his jacket and walking over, bag in hand.

"Well, since it's sort of a—you know—special occasion, I made lasagna."

He grinned, a bit of drool escaping at the thought because lasagna was his absolute favorite. Sometimes his meister really could be cool.

"Nice," he said, sitting down. "You want your gift now?" he added casually as she put a steaming plate of lasagna in front of him. It smelled delicious and the drool increased. Damn his awkward teeth, but he couldn't _help_ it.

"Soul," his meister snapped a warning and he wiped his face dutifully, scowling, before her face lit up in a warm smile. "And yes, I'd love to see it now!" She clapped her hands together once in her enthusiasm.

Nodding, he slid the drug store bag over and Maka took it eagerly. Sliding the box of chocolates out first, she beamed. "Oh! I love mint, thank you, Soul!"

Score—at least he'd done something right. Never mind that it was one of the last boxes of candy in the damned store.

She slid the card out next, opening it eagerly, warm smile still on her face. Soul shoveled in a bite of lasagna, casting his eyes on his plate because he _knew_ the stupid thing was completely awful. The food was really good, and how she managed to be a decent cook so young was beyond him, but he chose not to look a gift meister in the mouth as he savored the cheesy gooey deliciousness.

As he continued to eat, the scythe heard the snort first, then the giggle. Then came the belly laugh and the loud crash, and that was when he finally raised his eyes to look at her and noticed she had fallen off her chair and was rolling on the floor in her amusement, clutching her belly, one hand still holding the object of her mirth tightly.

"I know it's cheesy—" he grumbled around a bite of lasagna.

"Oh—oh my _Death_ Soul, this card—this card is _awful_—" she choked out amidst her laughter. Then she actually held it to her face and began to recite in spurts and gasps.

"Friendship is— beautiful—like the sun," Maka was choking again and Soul groaned because it really was that bad. The cliche picture of an ocean sunset emblazoned on the cover stared back at him accusingly and he felt every ounce of the cool he'd worked so hard to cultivate drain from his pathetic preteen body.

"Sometimes—it sets—and you don't see each other for a while," she continued, guffawing.

"A+ metaphor," she giggled. "Seriously. But then—it gets _better_!"

"Oh shove it, they—"

"But it always—rises—again," she interrupted, reading the next part, gasping in mirth. "Okay, so now friendship—is—is a Phoenix!" she commented, giggling.

"Seriously, Tiny Tits, it was that or—"

The fact she didn't bean him for the nickname was testament to just how gone she was.

"Wait—wait—now for the coupe de grace!" she squealed. "Thank you—for being—my—myyy—" she was tittering uncontrollably "—sunrise and sunset, friend!" She started howling. "Happy Valentine's Day! I—Soul this—"

"Okay, I get it, it's totally uncool," he gritted out, head in hands. He then lifted his eyes. "It was that or 'Baby, I've got a Valentine for you—'"

She stopped laughing and blinked up at him from her place on the floor. "That doesn't sound so—" she began.

"—in my pants," he finished, and she shrieked and chopped him.

So much for lasagna.

That disaster—the case of the world's cheesiest card—somehow snowballed into an unspoken competition of sorts.

Year after year, Maka and Soul would each go out of their way to buy the absolute worst Valentine's Day card they could find to give to the other. It started out as an accident, an unironic act of absolute desperation, but it became their little tradition, and even many years later, they still both loved it.

* * *

**_Bonus—Ten Years Later:_**

He was nervous as he sat beside her, unusually so, but he had his reasons. Maka was grinning as she handed him a card with a heart on the front. Soul opened it to an interior that just said "Wanna Fuck?"

She waggled her eyebrows comically when he looked at her, and he laughed and said "is this even a real question?"

"So I win?" Her grin widened in triumph.

"Wait 'till you open mine before you start celebrating," the scythe said with an answering smirk, hoping it covered his mounting trepidation.

She laughed and shifted on their bed, and he tried not to gawk at how the red camisole she wore hugged her in all the right places.

She opened it, frowned, giggled, then outright laughed. "Okay, _you win_—" she said through a chuckle as she turned the interior around to expose the simple block letters: Marry Me, Valentine? "—Because proposing in a Valentine's Day card really is the cheesiest thing I've ever heard of." She was shaking her head, her laughter growing, before he grinned and kissed her, stopping her cold.

"And yes, for the record," Maka eventually breathed against his lips before kissing him again.

Cheesy or not, it had worked, and that's all Soul could really care about.


End file.
